Stole
by Hellcat The Wicked
Summary: Chapter three is up. You know you love it, and you know what? Its back!
1. Hunting

Title: Stole  
Disclaimer: Nothing but Gypsy is mine. HA! Deal with it.  
Genre: Humor/Angst/Romance/BLAH!  
Author: Hellcat the Wicked  
Summary: It's a simple tale. Boy meets girl. Girl is a thief, boy is a homicidal maniac. Girl steals his lucky blade, boy tries to kill her horribly. Where shall we go from here?  
Author's Note: Done on a whim. Probably will never be finished. My first JTHM fic EVER! Enjoy, wormbabies!  
  
Chapter One:  
Hunting  
  
Gypsy smirked and ran a hand through her short, raven hair. She adjusted her silver-rimmed glasses, and took off in a sprint, counting backward from twenty. '…19…18…17…' she thought, her black-stained lips twisting into a deeper, darker smirk. '…10…9…8…' Not much time left. She ran harder, her booted-feet pounding heavily upon the pavement. She could feel her heart bursting in her ribcage, the black and violet corset restricting her breathing to the point of excruciating pain.   
  
BOOM!  
  
"Well…that went smoothly." She murmured, fingering her brand new diamond necklace. An exploding building certainly got rid of any evidence that might have been used to find her. Brilliant. "I think that deserves a brain-freezy."  
  
  
Johnny C. sighed and wiped clean his soiled blade. It was his favorite weapon, one with rubies on the hilt and a edge sharpened to the point of hair-splitting precision. Satan himself had given it to him. He'd just finished decapitating a particularly irksome boy, (11 or so, feeling the need to point out poor Johnny's thinness and oddly spastic eye movements) and strolled toward the nearest 24/7. A cherry brain-freezy was in order.  
  
  
"What do you MEAN there's no brain-freezies ready?!" demanded the uppity, raven-haired girl. Her unreadable eyes – black as the rest of her adornments – were wide with horror and her pretty, white face constricted to the point of abhorrence. "MAKE THEM!" she screamed, shaking her fist at the greasy-looking boy behind the counter.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we stop making the brain-freezies after midnight." Said the boy, looking terrified.  
  
"Make. One." she snarled. The boy behind the counter nodded, a terrified expression upon his pimply face, and ran to the brain-freezy machine. Moments later, a cherry brain-freezy was in her hand. She slid the customary $1.50 toward the boy and stalked out of the 24/7, annoyed that her night had nearly been ruined due to lack of frozen beverages.  
  
As she turned the corner, however, her evening was indeed ruined. The cherry brain-freezy, along with the person carrying it, was thrown backward and onto the filthy concrete. The red slush splattered all over whoever it was that had knocked her down, wasting a perfectly good brain-freezy in the process.  
  
"ACK!" cried Gypsy, eyes filling with tears. "How DARE you knock me down and spill my frozen beverage!"   
  
She was about to launch herself into ranting, raving hysteria, when she noticed that the cherry-covered person before her was looking at her with one slightly narrowed eye and one slightly bulging one. This disturbed her. She'd been to Egypt, England, Greece, and France, but she'd never seen eyes that could do that.  
  
"You are in my way." snapped the boy. His fingers twitched, as though he intended to reach for something in the pocket of his trench coat, but for some reason he did not. "Please move."  
  
Now, were Gypsy the type of girl who listened to the little voices in her head – the kind that tell you when danger is near – she would have known better than to do what she did next. Instead of apologizing and getting herself another freezy she leaped to her feet, tossed her hair belligerently, and flipped off the boy.  
  
"Fuck you and your freezy-ruining ways." She said, and turned to walk off.   
  
Johnny had been debating on the pros and cons of killing the girl before him. She was rude, yes, but she also liked cherry brain-freezies, which meant she was not all bad. He'd been leaning more toward letting her live, until, of course, she extended her middle finger in his direction; exposing perfectly-manicured, black nails. That annoyed him. The nails, that is. What kind of freak got their nails done in black? She was obviously someone with something to prove, which – of course – meant she needed to die.  
  
Without thinking about it he grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her against the wall he'd been leaning against. Both his eyes were bulging now. He drew the blade Satan had given him, the one he'd just finished cleaning not more than twenty minutes ago, and raised it for dramatic effect. He always loved it when the victims knew what was coming, and had time to cry out for mercy.  
  
She did not cry out for mercy.  
  
She grabbed the thin wrist that held the knife and squeezed until he was forced to drop it. He was certain that she'd cut off the flow of blood for at least a full minute. Next she kicked him hard in the face, leaving a high-healed boot print upon his cheek. She picked up the knife, which had clattered noisily onto the pavement, right near her now empty freezy cup, and examined it.  
  
"And here I thought the rest of the night would be dull." She said, smirking. "Thanks for the new toy."   
  
Instinctively, Johnny leaped upon the girl, tearing at her face with his talon-like hands, but was kicked off easily. She was, for some inane reason, freakishly strong. Again he charged her, this time drawing "Old Faithful", an eight inch long, double-edged blade, but this time was slashed at. With his own knife!  
  
"Well, not that this hasn't been interesting," she chided, eyes glinting. "but I really ought to be going."  
  
Before he could attack her again, she threw down a smoke bomb. The flash of light and blinding, foul-smelling smoke made his eyes water, and when it cleared she was gone. Gone with his favorite knife.  
  
"God damn it." he hissed, checking himself for wounds. Of course, he had none, despite the slashing and kicking. Yes, there had been quite a bit of kicking. "Now I have to go…" he paused, making one eye dramatically larger than the other. "hunting." 


	2. Not YOU again!

Title: Stole  
Disclaimer: Nothing but Gypsy is mine. HA! Deal with it.  
Genre: Humor/Angst/Romance/BLAH!  
Author: Hellcat the Wicked  
Summary: It's a simple tale. Boy meets girl. Girl is a thief, boy is a homicidal maniac. Girl steals his lucky blade, boy tries to kill her horribly. Where shall we go from here?  
Author's Note: Got tired of everyone making Johnny meet, and fall in love with, a girl who's sugar, spice and everything nice. I swear, though she seemed it in Chapter One, Gypsy is not a Sue. She's quite the bad girl, actually. The kind that Johnny would actually hang out with. No offense to the lovely and talented Chaya, who's story "Koli" inspired this, but frankly I was going for something a little different. If this has been done before, I swear I didn't know about it!  
  
Chapter Two:  
Not YOU again!  
  
She chuckled and slid the ruby-encrusted blade into her belt. It would certainly bring in some much-needed cash. A part of her actually felt sorry for that poor, skinny kid she'd beat up. It wasn't really fair for her to use her freakishly-strongness on him. But then again it hadn't been all that nice of him to try and kill her, either.  
  
Once she got inside her apartment, however, her mind was occupied with something else entirely. She didn't have time for regrets, for she was going ONLINE! The first thing she did was check her mail, seeing if Dale – her tech – had any new gadgets for her to play with, then she logged in to Ebay.   
  
"Priceless diamond necklace, selling for 120,000.00 to start. Any bidders?" she muttered, smirking. Within minutes she had a rich buyer from Japan shelling out double what she'd asked for, and pitching in for the next-day delivery. Chuckling, she did a background check, just in case he was one of those pesky Fed.'s that seemed to enjoy chasing her. To her great satisfaction, she found that he was not. Just some wealthy idiot looking for a new bauble for his mistress.   
  
'You know, with your computer skills you could just transfer money to your accounts. Without the hassle of actually stealing things.' Her mind pointed out.  
  
"But where's the fun in that?" she demanded. Once the transaction was complete she logged off and stretched. She was bored. Nothing to steal for a while, and absolutely nothing interesting to play with. "Am shooting Dale for not having more tech-toys for me."  
  
'Great, you're bored.' she thought. 'What are you supposed to do to entertain yourself now?'  
  
A sadistic smile danced across her lips.  
  
"I think I'll go dancing." She announced to no one in particular. With that she grabbed her black, leather, trench coat and slipped out the front door, intending to 'borrow' the BMW motorcycle she'd spied down the street.  
  
  
Johnny, having no black-haired, black-eyed girl to take out his frustrations on, proceeded to kill the boy behind the counter at the 24/7. He would find her, of course, but there was no point in hunting if he wasn't going to be careful about it. When they knew they were being stalked, there was time to prepare. To protect themselves. Not that he thought she needed protecting. That had been odd. She'd actually escaped.  
  
How very perplexing.  
  
He was going to have to make sure that her death involved broken kneecaps and lots of chains. He couldn't let her get away twice. That would just be…  
  
"STUPID!" he screamed, giving the corpse of the greasy-faced boy one last kick.  
  
He gulped down his brain-freezy and slithered off, headed home. He needed to stock up on weapons before he took on that evil girl again. As luck, and demonic intervention, would have it, he noted an unfamiliar sound on the air. One of those new BMW motorcycles was headed south, passing his house in the process. People in his neighborhood did not drive BMWs. They couldn't spell BMW.  
  
He recalled that sparkly string of diamonds about her neck and knew in an instant who it was. Only someone like her would have the gall to drive about at 3:00 AM on one of the most expensive of vehicles ever made. He observed the slick, black thing from his attic window, and noted that it sped right onto Cherrywood Road. She was headed toward The Scull, a dance club that had supplied more than its fare share of idiot prey. Splendid.  
  
"Suddenly, I'm in the mood to dance." he muttered.  
  
  
Flashing lights, writhing bodies, and hard-core rock and roll. Gypsy was in heaven…minus the flying bunnies. She walked toward the back of the club, where the bar was, and ordered herself a rum and coke with six cherries floating about. She was celebrating.  
  
"Excuse me," said a voice. Gypsy grinned and sucked the liquor off one of the cherries. "would you like to dance?"  
  
Dance? Her? She observed the boy in front of her and smirked. Shoulder-length, black hair, violet eyes, and very pale skin. He wore all black and frankly, he wasn't bad looking. In fact, there was something about the way his trench grazed the tops of his combat boots that put fire in her blood. She was a sucker for the bad boy.  
  
"Sure." she said, and gulped down the rest of her drink. Out onto the dance floor they walked, heads bobbing to the beat of a particularly angry-sounding song. Once they found a suitable place, the two began dancing; their bodies gyrating provocatively against each other.  
  
"So what's your name?" he asked, shouting in her ear to be heard.   
  
"Gypsy, what about you?" she replied.  
  
"Malachite."  
  
Gypsy grinned dangerously and grazed her hands over his chest. She could tell she was having a pants-shrinking effect on him, simply by the way his smile went lob-sided and his eyes sparkled. 'Why not?' she thought, though she could hardly hear her own inner monologue over the music. 'He's cute and I can't remember the last time I got some. What was it, three nights ago?'  
  
"Hey, Malachite!" she called, pressing her body against his. "Wanna get outa here?"  
  
He grinned smoothly, and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. His face was frozen. He went limp in her arms and slumped against her, making her grow annoyed and toss him backwards.  
  
"Hey, I don't do it in public!" she snarled. That was when she noticed the large knife protruding from his back. 'Oh, so he's dead. That explains it.' She watched the body fall onto the filthy floor and tried very hard not to chuckle when he made gurgling sounds. That was when she noticed the tall, thin boy gliding toward the corpse. He yanked the blade free of the flesh and pointed it at her, a maniacal glint in his cold, dark eyes.  
  
"I believe you have something that belongs to me." he said. His voice was dangerously steady and fierce.  
  
"Aw fuck, not YOU again!"  
  
Review now! 


	3. Tone deaf!

Chapter Three:  
  
Tone deaf!  
  
"Didn't I kick your ass enough last time?" she demanded, crossing her arms. Johnny glared furiously at her. He moved toward her slowly and deliberately, the knife reflecting the flashing strobe lights, and dove upon her with blinding speed. "If you ruin this corset I'm gonna have to break your kneecaps."  
  
"Funny, I was thinking of doing the same thing to you." he hissed.  
  
"Can we get this over with? You kind of killed my fuck buddy, so now I have to find a new one."  
  
Johnny shuddered at the thought of actually touching another human being, and slashed at her again with his knife. She dodged easily, landing a few taunting punches and kicks in the process. She wasn't really trying to hurt him, just annoy him to the point of insanity. She doubted he needed any help with that venture.  
  
"God, you suck at this game!" she cried, leaping onto a nearby table. He was running on pure hatred, now. Never in all his life had he wanted to kill someone so badly.   
  
NEVER!   
  
In an instant he had her by the throat and was dragging her off into the darkness. It did not occur to him that she'd evaded his attacks thus far, but suddenly with great ease he'd caught her. She did not cry out for help, nor did she seem even at all phased by the fact that he'd slung her over his shoulder and was now headed toward his run-down house.   
  
In fact, she seemed wholly amused.  
  
Down into the basement they went, the entire time Johnny kept muttering about how wonderfully dead she would soon be. Gypsy didn't bother struggling. She'd been bored, after all, and if she couldn't screw, she'd have to settle on masochism. Who knew? Maybe this skinny, spiky-haired boy was better at torture than he was at hand-to-hand combat.  
  
She was shackled to a wall, now. The boy was rummaging through a large, wooden chest, searching for something, giving the young thief a chance to examine her surroundings. She spied several corpses nearby, and a dead rabbit nailed to the wall. Once again, if Gypsy were the type of girl who actually listened to the voices in her head – this still being the kind that tell a person when they're in danger – she would have known enough to be afraid. She, of course, was not.  
  
"Are we going to get underway here?" she asked, growing impatient. A sound CRACK was heard when his fist connected with her face, but instead of crying out she simply spat the blood from her split lip onto the floor and waited. "You know, that really aroused me more than anything else."  
  
"SHUT UP!" he screamed, hitting her again.  
  
"You ought to stop that. You're really starting to get me hot." This comment was rewarded with another hard punch to the torso, then the boy drew a dozen throwing-stars from the pile of frightening-looking torture devices. "Oh fuck," she muttered, spitting more blood at his feet. "you've got toys."  
  
~*~  
  
It had been hours. He'd electrocuted her, pummeled her, set fire to her flesh, and just about everything else he could think of, but she'd yet to cry out in pain. In fact, despite the blood and bruises…and burn marks, she seemed to be enjoying herself.  
  
"You…stupid…bitch. Why won't you DIE?!" he said, wiping sweat off his forehead.  
  
"I dunno." She replied, shrugging. "Don't feel like it right now."  
  
"What the fuck does it take?!" He began twitching.   
  
"Hey, man, calm down!" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You know you're not the first person to try to kill me."  
  
Johnny C. glared at her, and sat cross-legged in front of her.  
  
"I'm listening." he said, slowly. Perhaps she would tell him where they had failed, so that he might succeed. Instead of divulging doom tactics, however, she simply rubbed her temples and muttered something under her breath.  
  
"Look, I'm not sure why you're so pissed at me. If you really want your stupid dagger back, you can have it. I've got plenty of coin for now." she stated, lowering her hands in a defeated gesture. Johnny's eyes widened, then one narrowed. That was still just as disturbing as it had been earlier that night.  
  
"Really?" he asked.  
  
"Sure. In fact, I'll even pay for your dry-cleaning, so you can get those cherry-freezy stains outa your clothes." she said.  
  
"Why?" he demanded, pointing at her accusingly. "'Cause you feel sorry for me?!"  
  
"Um…no…because this is getting us nowhere."  
  
Johnny puzzled over this a moment. She was right; the torture was getting them nowhere. Also, though he hid it from her, he HAD tried to kill her. When it did not succeed, however, he wrote it off as another wound of revenge. After a moment of deliberation he decided that if he could not kill her he would at least get his clothes cleaned for his trouble.   
  
He unlocked her shackles, and waited impatiently for her to gather herself. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes and a chrome-plated lighter. Before he had a chance to tell her that he loathed smokers, she had it lit. She didn't seem to be the type to care if his lungs burned from her second-hand smoke anyway.   
  
"Okay," she said, exhaling the tobacco through her nose. "let's go then."  
  
"Where are we going?" he inquired, making one eye larger than the other…again.  
  
"Well, I've got to go get your dagger, and since we're headed in that direction I might as well drop off a package at Fed-Ex." She replied.  
  
"Right…"  
  
"Hey, quick question." She said, adjusting her glasses; which were remarkably unscathed. Johnny crossed his arms and inclined his head, signaling her to continue. "Got a name?"  
  
"Why do you care?" he demanded.  
  
"Well…" she paused and took another long drag of her cigarette. "Because I usually get the names of my assassins."  
  
"Johnny C." he muttered, running a hand through his hair. She grinned and snubbed the butt of the spent smoke on the heal of her boot.   
  
"Was that so hard?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, Johnny C., my name is Gypsy."  
  
"I don't care." Snapped the boy. She rolled her eyes and began humming, which eventually erupted into a full-blown song.  
  
"How swe-e-e-e-e-et it is to be loathed by you – by you!" she sang, lighting another cigarette. Johnny was beginning to wonder if he'd damaged her brain-meats during the beatings. If he were not relatively certain she was unkillable, he would have already impaled her three or four times by the second verse. 


End file.
